"toity" poems
If your muggy-grubby hands
Even rise to slap me again
I swear I'll chop them off with my axe.
If your fangly-boniony feet
Get within kicking distance of me,
I swear I'll tear your legs from your hips
And then admire my workmanship.
If your mangy-crazy mind
Tries to infiltrate mine
To deposit some lie
That would change the perception
Of me, myself, and i,
I swear I'll grab a spoon
And scrape, scrape, scrape
Out your brain.
If your hoity-toity attitude
Tries to usurp my solitude
To make me someone I'm not
I swear I'll be completely dispassionate
As I wipe your every iota from this
Particulate Universe.
If I so much as hear you breathe,
I swear I will squeeze
Every
Drop
Of
Air
Left in your lungs.
You think this is too violent even for me?
You'd better believe
I've been pushed to the edge
Of all logical reason
By your every act of treason
And I won't hesitate to
Incapacitate,
Excommunicate
Eradicate,
You from my life.
You'd better beware.
I'm angry and all this I'll do.
I swear.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 5:20 PM UTC
Here
Is a timely
Noun to consider
From the Merriam-Webster page.
"Trumpery."
Note (at bottom) the list of near-antonyms;
what is the opposite of trumpery?
[Popularity: Bottom 40% of words]
trumpery
noun trum·pery \ˈtrəm-p(ə-)rē\
Definition of trumpery
1
a : worthless nonsense b : trivial or useless articles : junk <a wagon loaded with household trumpery — Washington Irving>
2
archaic : ****** finery
Origin of trumpery
Middle English (Scots) trompery deceit, from Middle French, from tromper to deceive
First Known Use: 15th century
Examples of trumpery
<claims for weight-loss products that are based much more on Madison-Avenue trumpery than on bariatric science>
Related to trumpery
Synonyms
applesauce [slang], balderdash, baloney (also boloney), beans, bilge, blah (also blah-blah), blarney, blather, blatherskite, blither, bosh, bull [slang], bunk, bunkum (or ******** claptrap, codswallop [British], crapola [slang], crock, drivel, drool, fiddle, fiddle-faddle, fiddlesticks, flannel [British], flapdoodle, folderol (also falderal), folly, foolishness, fudge, garbage, guff, hogwash, hokeypokey, hokum, hoodoo, hooey, horsefeathers [slang], humbug, humbuggery, jazz, malarkey (also malarky), moonshine, muck, nerts [slang], nuts, piffle, poppycock, punk, rot, ******* senselessness, silliness, slush, stupidity, taradiddle (or tarradiddle), tommyrot, tosh, trash, nonsense, twaddle
Related Words
absurdity, asininity, fatuity, foolery, idiocy, imbecility, inaneness, inanity, insanity, kookiness, lunacy; absurdness, craziness, madness, senselessness, witlessness; hoity-toity, monkey business, monkeyshine(s), shenanigan(s), tomfoolery; gas, hot air, rigmarole (also rigamarole); double-talk, greek, hocus-pocus
Near Antonyms
levelheadedness, rationality, reasonability, reasonableness, sensibleness; common sense, horse sense, sense; discernment, judgment (or judgement), wisdom
By: Robinson Bolkum
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 6:44 PM UTC
I have only seen myself as a beautiful artwork once in my life,
It had been the advent lovely Spring of sweet sixteen,
There is a photo of someone else’s mind in which I am the subject, rife
With calculated gorgeousness, the white blouse and powder blue skirt
And I had been wearing black ballet flats; a day upon my feet had left me hurt
But the enchanted, oil forest before me had healed my eyes and entranced me
That pose, holding onto myself with ribbons in my hair, someone could see
A beauty that which I have never known since.
Into the heart of the Prince
Into the hearts of all the folk for she was a fairy tale heroine,
Cinderella, lovely lady of ashes, had glass slippers
And upon such toity-toity footwear, she had slipped
Yet, it had been such fragility that would unite her with her love
Will I be united with such grace, such love for myself, if I hold onto my ballet flats?
After all, I have not once seen this grace, such love for my own self since sweet sixteen
Since the foolhardy winds of chilly, oceanside Spring;
Where upon the Museum modern, I saw myself as timeless artwork
Admired and appreciated by all; much like the lovely lady of ashes whose slippers
Have walked her beloved soul into the hearts of all; into the best of time
Yet, these beloved shoes of mine
Have seen so much better of time
For I can see through the soles wherein holes
Have shown where I have worn my own souls
In bitter wanderings and light-hearted adventure; so many type of walk
For a single lass, I could not talk
Of all the places and thoughts these shoes have led me astray within
Of the beauty that had once sunken in
How am I to part?
How am I to part with such faithful companions through all my wanderings of
Yonder years soon to come asunder as I am no longer sweet sixteen,
As I am no longer before entrenched trees of oil, elevated in buildings upon
A chilly, Springtime by the sea I’ve only known in passing afternoon
In black ballet flats; not unlike the glass gussied slippers of lovely cinders
Am I not unlike Cinderella?
For whom would she be if she had not received the night of her life
As carried upon the fragile spurned glass of her magic slippers
For whom had reunited her with her love, the foot fetishist Prince;
Lovely lady of ashes would be just that: lady of ashes,
Worked to beyond the bone; dressed in rags, head in clouds,
Dreaming of opportunity squandered in her slippers of magic glass
She would be like me.
She would be like me, contemplating her toes in birdsong prose
She would be like me, wondering when she would feel as refined as a classic artwork
A beautiful timeless painting with grace and poise without rival supposed
If I part with these worn soles which have born my souls cross
My journeys long, will I ever be at loss
Over mine own image rendered beautiful: my own body rendered beautiful to my eyes?
How can such skin-deep bliss exist without my black ballet flats?
How will mine own eyes recognise my beauty
If it were not for dainty small feet slotted into impractical, magical glass slippers
In want of my dear and precious black ballet flats.
Feb 8, 2018
Feb 8, 2018 at 6:53 PM UTC
Our land of stars and stripes, now glows,
with screens that flicker in hallowed halls.
Entranced humans shuffle, with eyes fixed below,
on small gadgets that have us enthralled.
Should the Statue of Liberty, our symbolic girl,
be holding a smartphone up to the world?
While tweets fly like eagles and hashtags swirl,
foreign disinformation trends as fast as it’s purled.
In lunch halls, real conversations take rest,
as influence is sought—in hoity-toity, binary quest.
Friends are backdrops—originality in short supply
as likes and shares make our dopamine fly.
America’s zombies, though *********** drained,
shuffle endlessly on, with Wi-Fi stimulated brains.
Once the land of the free, we’re now the land of tech
with minds wrecked by truths unchecked.
As we rock and sway—the new robot way—
will our old, analog-republic simply fade away?
.
.
Songs for this:
Airhead by Thomas Dolby
.
Oh, and a Christmas playlist because—it’s December!:
https://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_01.mp3
Dec 4, 2024
Dec 4, 2024 at 10:47 AM UTC
If you could only let it drop
we would not need to bear it:
that holy hoity-toity
illiberal burden you announce
from where you wear it.
Would you then be able to live
with your fellow citizens:
fellow toilers in rhyme
buying gluten-free time
at Whole Foods
US; your citizen-neighbors
online cloud of witnesses
Looking at used Subarus
and paying our dues
with you
at the dealership.
Could you only see
through deplorable eyes
and love with a deplorable heart
you would appreciate the art
of the real deal,
loose the seal
of your own apocalypse;
let love reveal
landscapes your pride
has kept hidden for too long.
If you could let your hatred drop,
Slough off the smug and the sneer
If you could stop
signaling to your own
long enough to know REAL diversity, and live
perhaps you’d give
a thought to your own fallibility
lost in a forest of woulds, failing to see
Your neighbor’s Tree of Life. . .
But you are busy perfecting strife,
screaming Timber!
before the axe has even been laid
at the root of your poetry.
If you knew, as the rest of us
how often you have shouted thus
you could understand why
we tend to ignore your warning cry.
Perhaps it could be feasible
to stop blaming
that orange source of all unreasonable
derangement, cease from naming
your neurotic projections
as they are unscrewed
to reveal another inside:
crazed conspiratorial Russian doll
of your own
discredited obsessive offended perpetual alarm.
Apr 7, 2019
Apr 7, 2019 at 6:16 PM UTC
A simple spot
On the dot
Hoity-toity
Love me never
Can’t give up
Don’t give a ****
Who you are
Or how far
Crazy duck
Tiny ****
Big cats
Last naps
Women floor
Who’s the *****
Music to me
Death to bees
Can’t tell
Got mail?
Fall through grass
Nice ***
How to tell
Dude, it’s a Dell
Apple time
Tile grime
Falling faster
Lonely *******
Stop the flow?
You stubbed your toe
Nov 27, 2011
Nov 27, 2011 at 1:59 AM UTC
i pulled over to the side of the road,
and watched your funeral procession pass by.
i don't know who you were or how you died,
but those sleek black cars just didn't stop.
there was a lull in the traffic.
i considered driving again.
but then i could hear something.
music, with 808s and screams.
following the sophisticated,
respectful, hoity-toity procession,
was at least twenty used cars,
each filled with teenage boys.
every single one, drivers included,
had an arm out the window,
clutching onto the same style beanie.
black, with white checkered stitching.
i could hear them yell for you.
i could see them cry for you.
i don't know who you were,
or what you did.
but you made a difference in some lives.
you can count on that.
i hope you were able to see it.
i'm glad i was.
Apr 7, 2011
Apr 7, 2011 at 5:54 PM UTC
O! Miss Hoity Toity,
Walking with pride, dressed like a bride.
Feeling all mighty.
O! Miss Hoity Toity,
You spoiled brat, gnawing like a lil rat.
Feeling all fruity.
You welcome yourself,
Displaying your head on a shelf.
Playing with people's feeling.
Is it fulfilling?
Your soul treacherous,
You are dangerous!
Blinded by your own reflection.
Have you no affection?
The sound of your stiletto rhymes;
With the beating of your black heart.
O! Tread softly, Miss Toity.
Shall I throw you a dime?
O! Miss Hoity Toity,
Stop the parade, stop the charade.
O! Miss Hoity Toity.
Time to wash your make up and wake up.
7 billion people do not even know you exist.
-Doey
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 1:28 AM UTC
Dear You,
I've got something on my mind
And it only shows up from time to time
This is the letter I never intend to send
Because it would only hurt others, breaking off amends
You're too hoity-toity for your own **** good
So sit down, shut the **** up, as you should.
You're too persnickety with your nose held so high
It'd be nice to see you fall from high up in the sky
So your jaw will break, and your ears will melt
and the opinions you have, or the opinions you've felt
won't **** off others, or hurt their sensitive feelings
because the ******** you spew can make friendships reeling.
It's a wonder you've made this far in life
without being cut-down, cut-out, or stabbed with a knife.
No one gives a **** about this, that, or those.
One more peep outta you and I'll break your toes.
You're taking things too seriously, and way too far,
I'll run over your views in with a slow moving car.
Because the slower I crush 'em, the more it'll hurt
because you're the kinda person that won't take off your shirt
in public, because you're ashamed at what you made yourself
so you've got your ideas, your opinions, and books on your shelf
that creates and molds what you've come to be known as:
the hoity-toity piece of **** dicklicker **** ***
But deep down we love you, because we've known you so long,
back when times were less-stressful, taking hits from a ****
But even then, you knew how to **** on all the parades
so, we'll just grab our panchos, and hope that you're having a "good day."
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 4:03 PM UTC
you made fun of the way i talk,
like it somehow alienated me.
words like “uppity” and “hoity toity”
that i was using to describe your friends.
“i’d love to read your essays...uppity.”
at that point i hadn’t realized that you were just as well off as they were
and here i was talking about how they made me feel like i didn’t belong,
just because my father didn’t own a boat or a summer house.
it was actually quite funny
i always thought you were like me,
a fake.
a middle class citizen playing pretend.
Dec 29, 2018
Dec 29, 2018 at 11:16 AM UTC
I've always wanted to go to church
Not a hoity-toity one,
Where you have to wear clothes so starched you can't breathe
But one on the beach,
Where you can feel the rising sun
And the sand between your toes
And smell the salt air
And the pastor preaches love,
Spinning tales about birds and bees and trees,
And how our Creator love us, No Matter What
I just want a church of love, not hate
Where everyone is equal
And everyone is loved.
me.gs
Nov 8, 2014
Nov 8, 2014 at 6:10 PM UTC